


Music in the Museum

by Morvidra



Series: Trio for Strings [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Jewish Scripture & Legend
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22922404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvidra/pseuds/Morvidra
Summary: A pleasant day out with old friends.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Trio for Strings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643326
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Purimgifts 2020





	Music in the Museum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opalmatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/gifts).



The Jewish Museum of London was out of their usual way, but Aziraphale had seen a poster and had promptly harassed1 Crowley into the outing. The Bentley was currently parked on the yellow lines directly outside, and three traffic wardens had already suffered sudden illnesses.

Currently the two men, or at least male-shaped entities, were strolling through the building.

“Really my dear, this is quite delightful,” commented Aziraphale. “Oh, look at that bowl! I had one just like that back in – dear me, it must have been—”

“1805.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “And you broke it a week later when you opened a book on top of it.”

“It was a _first edition_ , Crowley,” said Aziraphale sternly.

“Yeah, yeah, angel.” Crowley sauntered along the display cases. “Hey, I think that’s my old coffee set.”

“I remember that! Didn’t you give it away to—”

“I’m a _demon_ , I don’t _give things away_ —”

Bickering amicably, the two passed into the next room, which appeared to be devoted to antique musical instruments. There was a woman playing a lute softly in the corner.

Crowley squinted at the nearest cabinet. “’s that a sistrum?”

“Yes of course,” said Aziraphale in the tones of one who isn’t sure either. “Er. Perhaps if I just pop my glasses on for a moment, terribly dark in here—”

“It’s a timbrel,” said an acerbic voice from the corner. The musician was looking sternly at them over the top of her glasses.

“Oh, so it is,” said Aziraphale happily. He beamed at the woman, looking quite cherubic2 as he did so. “Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, very helpful,” Crowley muttered. “Nice lute you’ve got, shame if something were to happen to it.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Really, my dear, there’s no need for that sort of thing.”

“Lute?” The woman stared disapprovingly at Crowley. “This, young man, is an oud: a far superior instrument. Of course, this one is quite a modern design,” she added in faintly disparaging tones.

“Quite so, quite so,” nodded Aziraphale.

“He’s not a musician, he’s got no idea what you just said,” Crowley interjected. “Mind you, _I_ used to play a mean trumpet.”

“I suppose you were sorry when the serpent horn went out of fashion,” the woman said dryly. “Still, I’m glad to see you sorted things out between you. I was beginning to think it would take the end of the world to bring _that_ about.”

“Yeah…” Crowley said uncertainly. Something was striking him as odd about the conversation, but he couldn’t place it.

“Have we… met before?” asked Aziraphale, politely and blankly.

The woman smiled: a crinkly, lopsided affair that somehow held the wisdom and laughter of centuries in its folds. “Long ago, she said. “I am pleased to see you both once more. I was beginning to doubt that I would manage it in time. But you need to tell each other the secrets you hid in shame.”

Crowley could feel his hindbrain kicking him rhythmically, like someone trying to start an engine. “Right,” he said. “Well then. Good to see you again, I suppose. Not that I remember the first time, but still.”

“Yes indeed,” said Aziraphale. “Er.” He edged towards the door. “I’m afraid we must be off now.”

They were definitely not running away, Crowley told himself. Demons and angels did not run from creepy little old ladies who knew a lot more than they should. This was just a strategic exit.

“ _Chazak u'baruch_ ,” Crowley heard the musician call after them as they left the room.

“Well, that was…” Aziraphale trailed off.

“Weird,” Crowley said.

“That’s one way of putting it, yes.” Aziraphale shook his head slightly. “I feel as though I’m forgetting something.”

“Afternoon tea, maybe,” Crowley suggested. “My treat?”

“No, that wasn’t – although, now that you mention it, I do feel rather peckish.”

“Come on then.” Crowley made a beeline for the exit. Aziraphale lingered a moment to place a donation in the museum collection box, which was why Crowley was the first to step outside.

“Oh,” he said.

“Shit,” he said.

“HER,” he said, or rather shouted, as he spun on his heel and bolted back into the building. Aziraphale, who was just exiting, briefly resembled a revolving door as Crowley used his gravity to gain greater speed, comet-fashion.

“What’s the matter?” he heard Aziraphale call. Crowley was saving his breath to scream faintly as he skidded round corners at a velocity he usually needed the Bentley to achieve. In any case he wasn’t at all sure how to answer.

Crowley had black and red spots appearing in front of his eyes when he arrived back at the room, but even as he clung panting to the doorpost, he knew it was no use. The room was empty. She was gone.

“What happened?” puffed Aziraphale as he caught up.

“That woman,” Crowley said, still gasping faintly for air. “I remember now. I remember her. It was a different damn _instrument_ but I still should have recognised her…!”

“Who…” Aziraphale’s voice trailed off. “Oh,” he said in an entirely different tone of voice. “Yes. I… yes. She had a harp.”

“It was a lyre when I knew her,” Crowley said. “In Canaan. When did you--?”

“Egypt,” said Aziraphale.

“Ah. We should probably talk about… things, sometime.”

“Yes, I think she was right about that.” Aziraphale looked at the oud sitting alone on a stand in the corner. “I remember her so clearly now, but I cannot quite think of her name…”

“Serach bat Asher,” Crowley said. A faint echo of music seemed to drift through the air, but whether it was a curse or a blessing, Crowley couldn’t say.

* * *

1\. Which was to say, he had asked. And Crowley had made a great fuss about how much bother it would be. And Aziraphale had let him rant while calmly eating Crowley’s salad. And then Crowley had driven them to the museum straight after dessert.↩

2\. Although not technically.↩

**Author's Note:**

> Chazak u'barach: "be strong and be blessed".
> 
> The Jewish Museum of London is a real place, and several of the objects Crowley and Aziraphale mention are pictured on their website. I am reliably informed that not even a miracle would find a parking space outside, so take public transport if you are visiting.
> 
> The ancient oud had a longer neck and fewer strings than the ‘modern’ (ninth century) version, which strongly resembles a lute. 
> 
> Traditions vary about whether Serach bat Asher entered the Garden of Eden at the end of her life (without ever actually dying) or whether she still lives agelessly on the earth. The reader is invited to choose their own adventure on this one.
> 
> And finally to opalmatrix: Happy Purim once again, and I hope you have enjoyed this series!


End file.
